


Confessions of a Freelancer Reject

by foxtrot77



Series: Tales from a Cold and Lonely Planet [2]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alcohol, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-typical language, F/F, Fluff, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 10:48:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11251560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxtrot77/pseuds/foxtrot77
Summary: It's the little things that keep Sherry going. The little things, and maybe a little alcohol.Or, Sherry and Vera get drunk and play Five Things.





	Confessions of a Freelancer Reject

**Author's Note:**

> For the Red vs. Blue Fluff Week!
> 
> Set in the same universe as "Flirting and Other Extreme Sports".

It’s the little things that keep Sherry going.

Hot chocolate on those nights where it’s colder than usual—which means, fucking _cold_. Movie night with Terrill and Darryl. Narrowly dodging a grenade as she high-tails it through the snow, getting shot just a little to the left so the bullet only grazes her arm, having a Warthog careen into her hangar.

There isn’t much else Sherry needs in life, except maybe a ride off this goddamn wasteland.

And more alcohol.

“ _Darryl, Terrill, you’re needed in the breakroom_ ,” Sherry calls over the base’s intercom.

‘Break _room_ ’ is generous. It’s more like a closet.

Twelve feet by twelve feet. Table barely larger than a chess board, crates for chairs, ratty yellow couch that was probably white at some point, faded propaganda posters that someone—definitely _not_ Sherry—has plastered with googly eyes. The microwave takes ages to cook anything, and their counter consists of another crate that doubled as MRE storage.

It’s Sherry’s favorite spot on the entire planet.

“What’s going on?” Darryl asks as he trots into the room. Terrill is right behind him, doing nothing to hide his disappointed frown.

“I don’t mean to be a drag, but it’s almost midnight,” Terrill complains.

“Were you asleep?” Sherry asks.

“Yes,” Terrill says at the same time Darryl says “No.”

“Guys, I don’t have time for you to get your story straight,” Sherry says, rolling her eyes. “We’ve got bigger problems.”

Terrill and Darryl glance at each other and then back at Sherry.

“Liiiike?” Terrill crosses his arms.

“Like, we’re out of booze,” Sherry says. “All we have left are maraschino cherries.”

Terrill goes pale and Darryl sinks to his knees.

“But—” Terrill starts but Darryl cuts him off.

“ _Nooo!!_ ”

Knowing she’s already won, Sherry bites back a grin while she waits for Darryl to finish his tantrum. Terrill pats him on the shoulder, haunted look in his eyes. These two and their goddamn white Russians. She’s more of a whiskey gal, really.

“You know who _isn’t_ out of alcohol?” Sherry asks, once Darryl’s calmed down a bit.

Terrill and Darryl’s heads shoot up.

“We—” Sherry doesn’t even have to pitch her proposal because Terrill has already rushed out of the breakroom, shouting something about his grenade stash.

“What the heck are you waiting for?” Darryl asks, jumping to his feet. “Let’s suit up!”

**

Breaking into Ohio’s base is child’s play.

The guard on duty is Iowa and, well. The guard on duty is Iowa.

They slip past him and duck inside a supply closet when he starts firing at a random snowflake. This must be a common occurrence because no one comes to investigate.

 _“Okay, Sherry, lead the way,”_ Terrill hisses into the radio.

One by one they move out of the supply closet and into the hallway. Sherry takes the lead, making sure to wave at all the security cameras they pass.

 _“Are you_ trying _to get caught?”_ Darryl says.

 _“We’re going to get caught, Darryl,”_ Sherry says. _“Why not have fun with it?”_

 _“Well maybe we wouldn’t get caught if_ someone _hadn’t left the blueprints with the camera locations back at base,”_ Terrill mumbles.

 _“I didn’t think we needed it!”_ Darryl protests. _“It’s not like we haven’t been here before.”_

Before the arrival Ohio and Company, Sherry and her boys had plenty of time to explore the bases. They knew the area like the back of their hands—not much else to do when you’re stranded on a frozen planet with no contact with the outside world.

That’s how Sherry knows there’s alcohol here: she stashed it for a rainy—or, perhaps more appropriately, a snowy—day.

There’s a loose panel in the ceiling of the showers, and when she stands on Darryl’s shoulders, she’s able to reach up and produce two bottles of vodka, half a bottle of kalua, and some moonshine.

“ _Excelsior_!” Terrill shouts, grabbing the kalua and hoisting it above his head like an offering.

“ _What was that about not getting caught?”_ Sherry teases.

 _“Like you said,”_ Terrill says, hugging the alcohol to his chest, “ _We’re going to get caught. So, I’m going to savor this moment, Sherry.”_

They don’t get much of a chance to bask in the glory of their reclaimed goods, because at that exact moment Ohio, Iowa, and Idaho burst into the shower room.

Sherry freezes, moonshine clutched in her hand, and waits for the firefight to begin. Hopes a stray bullet doesn’t break open the bottle she’s holding, spilling its priceless contents all over the floor.

Ohio looks down at the bottles of alcohol, then back at Sherry.

Then she reaches into the pouch attached to her hip and produces a stainless-steel shot glass.

“Truce?”

**

Sherry can’t believe this is happening.

She’s waiting for Ohio to whip out her gun, shriek “Psych!”, and start shooting.

That would be _normal_.

Right now, sitting in the showers surrounded by the enemy, a very drunk Terrill, and a passed-out Darryl, things are decidedly _abnormal._

Iowa, Idaho, and Terrill are in the middle of a game of Five Things while Sherry and Ohio share a bottle of vodka.

Ohio pours herself another shot—it isn’t top shelf, but it gets the job done—and, after knocking it back with a cough, smiles and closes her eyes.

“This’s nice,” she says.

“Beats getting shot ‘n the foot any day,” Sherry agrees, pouring a shot of her own.

“Hey, you know what?” Ohio leans in like she’s about to tell Sherry a secret. “You know what? You’re th’one… the one who let her guard down.”

“Excuse you.” Sherry gives Ohio a tiny shove. “Excuse you, I was jus’ trying to be _nice_.”

Ohio tilts her head back and laughs. She looks so happy, like _truly_ happy _—_ Sherry should know, she’s _great_ at reading body language.

This is the first time Sherry’s seen the ex-Freelancer out of her armor, and Sherry thinks, not for the first time, Ohio—Vera—might be the most wonderful woman she’s ever met. She might blame it on the alcohol if she hadn’t already concluded this the day the woman shot her in the foot.

“I was jus’… I was just trying to find my purpose,” Vera says once she’s caught her breath.

“And?” Sherry scoots a little closer to Vera. “Did you?”

“Mm.” Vera closes her eyes. “I think so.”

Terrill stumbles over then, followed by Idaho. Sherry looks over and grins—Iowa and Darryl are now huddled together, passed out and snoring.

“Five things you love about being trapped on a frozen planet,” Idaho says, plopping to the ground. Terrill follows suit, almost dropping his white Russian in the process.

“What the fuck could I _possibly_ love about being stranded in the middle of—of _nowhere_ , Ezra?” Vera snorts.

 _I can think of a few things,_ Sherry thinks.

“White Russians,” Terrill declares.

“Predictable,” Sherry laughs.

“That’s one,” Idaho says.

“I’m able to get more beauty sleep,” Terrill says.

“No, you just refuse to get up,” Sherry retorts.

“That’s two!” Idaho says.

Vera takes another shot of Vodka.

“Snowball fights,” Sherry adds.

“Three!”

“White Russians?”

“You already said that, Terrill,” Idaho says.

“Oh, I did, didn’t I?” Terrill taps a finger on his chin then says, “Sherry and Darryl.”

“Sap,” Sherry says, nudging her teammate. He’s so drunk it almost tips him over. She considers adding that he and Darryl make this wasteland bearable too when Vera slams her shot glass down onto the floor.

 _How many is that, five?_ Sherry thinks. _Time to catch up._

She starts to pull the bottle towards her but Vera catches her by the wrist.

Sherry thinks she’s going to have to cut Vera off, and opens her mouth to say so—

—but she’s interrupted as Vera leans forward and fucking kisses her.

It lasts maybe three seconds, but it’s the best three seconds of Sherry’s life. And when Vera pulls away, she looks Sherry dead in the face and says,

“You.”

Sherry doesn’t know what to say because at the moment, she doesn’t even know what to think. Her mind is a whirlwind of happiness and anxiety and shock and—and, holy _shit_ Vera kissed her. She thinks she hears Idaho let out a whoop (“ _THAT’S FIVE!_ ”) and Terrill shouting at Darryl, but she can’t be sure because the blood is rushing in her ears, and she’s pretty sure her heart is about to climb out her throat.

She’s been waiting for this for so long, preparing her speech, cheesy as it may be, and now that it’s finally hear all she can muster is

“Wuh?”

 _Wuh_?! Sherry wants to die.

Eyes widening, Vera backs away and jumps to her feet. This isn’t the best idea—she’s clumsy when she’s sober—and she almost topples backwards.

Once she regains her balance, Vera puts her hands on her hips.

“Booze! I said ‘booze’!” She cries. Then she produces a smoke bomb from— _where_ did _she get that from_ —and raises it above her head.

An enormous grin splits Vera’s face. She winks.

Sherry smirks. Grabs the bottle of vodka, twists on the cap, and reaches for her helmet.

 _What a woman,_ she thinks as she yanks on her helmet just in time.

And just like that, everything goes back to normal.

Well.

As normal as drunkenly chasing after the love of your life as they hurl smoke bombs at you can be.

**Author's Note:**

> Original prompt from whatevertotesyourgoat on Tumblr (thanks friendo!): "The first "I love you", whether it was accidental or purposefully said is up to you. :3 Have fun fam~"


End file.
